


Tales You Might Call Strange and Peculiar

by MAVEfm



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Alternate Universe - Mutants, Gen, Mutant Powers, Plants, Roommates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-09-19 12:11:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9439862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MAVEfm/pseuds/MAVEfm
Summary: You might be interested in this.There are Blues and there are Equals. Most of the Blues, and by that I mean all, have strange and rather amazing abilities. Equals simply deal with them.





	1. Botany, part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Isn't it fun? Having a friend that grows plants in his sleep?  
> Pete Wentz thinks not.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

 

On the west part of town, there was a neighborhood.

 

Mostly occupied by Blues.

 

Which meant that at any moment someone could lose control and the entire block would respond.

 

Usually with laughter and acceptance.

 

Sometimes in annoyance.

 

In neighborhoods with less Blues and more Equals, there was a system, usually a terrible one, in place to deal with such occasions.

 

Sometimes the Equals (who, you should keep in mind are simple people, the word simple here meaning: understandable and predictable) don’t like Blues, (who, you should never forget are wonderfully unpredictable people, a word that means here: not simple) in which case the Equals harass the Blues, which is incredibly impolite no matter the circumstances.

 

Most Equals, however, are rather charming in their lack of unpredictability.

 

It would also be somewhat unfair to call them predictable. They are human after all, and humans are fantastically dangerous in the way that they are random.

 

But you might think that implies Blues are not, in fact, human.

 

You would be wrong of course.

 

And a bigot.

 

Blues are _beautifully_ human.

 

But anyway.

 

Where were we?

 

Yes, yes, neighborhood on the west part of town blah blah blah.

 

On this day, yes, this _exact_ day, most likely before or after a Tuesday, but certainly _not_ a Tuesday (If you happen to read this on a Tuesday, please stop and continue tomorrow, because it is not a Tuesday, and if it happens to be one you will be unable to read parts of this, as some paragraphs simply do not like Tuesdays and tend to disappear). Anyway, this exact day, most likely before or after a Tuesday, flowers bloomed.

 

Hawaiian flowers to be scientific but also vague at the same moment.

 

And in this neighborhood, on the west part of town, you would not expect to see such flowers, as it’s actually quite cold this time of year.

 

As well as the fact that we are not in Hawaii.

 

If you are: Congratulations! It’s a wonderful state, you should be proud.

 

These flowers grew in special circumstances.

 

To be exact: In _Blue_ circumstances.

 

There is a more official name for Blues of course, there is for everything, but I can’t seem to remember it.

 

These flowers were beautiful, colorful, inspired, and wrapped around a building called _Vined Apartments._

 

Besides its rather ironic name, it also boasted: _Does Not Float!_

 

The flowers in question were quite large, sprouting from vines that wrapped around the brick and mortar, under doors, through windows, curling around the feet of an unsuspecting victim and tripping them down the stairs or simply growing up their pant legs. In response, these victims would give the automated response of a yelp, or a scream, or even laughter.

 

Those that laughed most likely recognized these plants.

 

The flowers seemed to enjoy these little pranks, as they seemed to laugh whenever they pulled one off. Snickering would be a much better word to describe it, which here means: to give a half-suppressed chuckle.

 

Many apartment residents continued with their day, they were Blues, after all, this happened sometimes.

 

Some residents however, complained to the front desk, as well as their friends, roommates, colleagues, acquaintances, business partners, and on and on and on.

 

Humans can do that.

 

But right now forget the complainers,(but only for a moment, we meet one a while later.)

 

Right now we focus on a boy.

 

Imagine him as I piece together his appearance.

 

Sometimes authors will go to extreme lengths to avoid this part, but on the subject of impatience, I will not.

 

This boy is sleeping.

 

Quite heavily, so imagine a light snore, not one that could wake the neighbors, but maybe one that could become grating if you had been left to listen all night.

 

Now imagine this boy, of average height and somewhat skinny, with dark, wild hair. He is in bed, a bed with lovely blue sheets, how redundant of him, and he’s sprawled out on his stomach in a rather odd position.

 

His limbs are just everywhere, like he was spilled onto the bed like a glass of milk, and if you happened to enter his room you might turn your nose up at the strangeness.

 

His name?

 

Oh yes, forgive me.

 

The files are in alphabetical order….

 

Ah, yes.

 

Brendon Boyd Urie.

 

A lovely, hyperactive boy on all accounts.

 

This frees some space up as well! I imagine you know his face like the back of your hand.

 

Then you must also know that he has tattoos? Some rather lovely Hawaiian flowers on his forearm.

 

Yes, I stare from afar too, he really is quite nice looking.

 

A _ten_.

 

He is a Blue, as well.

 

Plants just seem to grow with him, and by with him I mean… On him, from his skin even, don’t worry he’s quite used to it, as well as around him, sometimes from pots, and often from the very ground on which he was standing.

 

Besides this perfectly magical trait, Brendon also thrives in sunlight, as well as rain, but can be made sick from too much. And if you were to cut him open, which I don’t recommend, people get put away for these things, you would find his blood filled with Chlorophyll.

 

“You have got to be kidding me.”

 

Ah, remember that line?

 

It was the first one, you can even go back up to check.

 

Back? It’s nice to see you again.

 

The speaker of such a line is a _complainer_.

 

He is also Brendon’s roommate and a friend from high school.

 

He’s impossibly short, a word that can be considered an exaggeration, and perpetually stressed.

 

I have his file right here, I imagine you can picture him quite clearly if I say his name is Pete Wentz.

 

He’s a Blue as well, with spectacular abilities that I’m sure will come up later.

 

Pete Wentz takes in the scene before him.

 

Brendon Urie continues to snore.

 

He has roots, Pete notices, growing from Brendon’s skin and planting him to the bed.

 

It’s quite comfortable for Brendon, so please don’t worry.

 

The vines cover the floor, slowly curling around the legs of chairs and tables and desks, and one with a small leaf even lifts itself from the floor to wrap around Pete’s pinky finger.

 

 _Hello_ , it seems to say. Pete frowns at it.

 

There are daisies growing from Brendon’s hair, which Pete acknowledges as new, then detaches himself from the tiny vine and begins to make his way to the bed.

 

A large Hibiscus whips down from the ceiling to smack him in the face.

 

“Stop it!” Pete slaps it away angrily and the flower shrivels.

 

“Oh!” Pete pauses, perhaps berating himself, “I’m sorry,” He reaches out for the hibiscus, “I’m just frustrated, I would never slap you on purpose, you were just saying hello.”

 

The hibiscus is delighted to hear this, and I would like to add that detached itself from its stalk after placing itself in Pete’s hair. It’s quite darling (a word here that means adorable, but not in a childlike way.)

 

Pete reaches out for Brendon’s shoulder, “Hey… Brendon… Come on wake up, you’ll cover the entire block with vines if you keep going like this.”

 

The vines had already reached the street when Pete had arrived, and the vines had covered the windows, making the interior quite dark, and in a few areas, mushrooms had sprouted, releasing spores. They were thankfully not poisonous, they just made flowers grow from a few passerby’s hair.

 

Unfortunately, it hurt to pick them out.

 

“Brendon, I’m serious!”

 

A Venus Fly-Trap had begun to grow from on the windowsill, which only brought trouble,  the kind of trouble Pete really wanted to avoid.

 

Brendon blinked, his usually brown eyes were a lovely shade of forest green.

 

“Oh, hey Pete,” He smiled softly, he was not yet aware of the incorrigible plant growing on the window sill.

 

“Hi, Brendon,” Pete eyed the Fly-Trap, “You mind uprooting yourself? I mean, normally I’d let you sleep, but they spread outside and…” He pointed to the Fly-Trap with his entire hand, nervous that it already seemed to be waking up.

 

Brendon didn’t see it, but nodded anyway, uprooting himself from the bed and yawning.

 

The roots, I should add, disappeared.

 

The green in his eyes was replaced by the color of hot chocolate, the kind most likely sprinkled with cinnamon and whipped cream.

 

Finally, he turned to the Fly-Trap and grabbed it by the neck, wincing as he pulled it from its vine. He then threw it in the trash next to his bed.

 

“Sorry, Pete,” Brendon scratched his head where the daisies had been growing, they were now gone, however, I’ll leave their method of disappearance up to you. “I didn’t know.”

 

“Well, yeah, you were sleeping.” Pete began to leave the room, tripping over the vines, which had slowed in their growing process.

 

Brendon breathed inward, calling the plants growing from his skin back to where they came. One vine, a tricky one I might add, wrapped around Pete’s leg and snickered when he toppled to the floor.

 

“I’m really sorry,” Brendon repeated, standing from his bed, “I’m  still trying to figure out how to stop it.”

 

“It’s fine, seriously,” Pete rubbed his bruised nose, “You only got this stuff a few years ago.”

 

“Well yeah, but you would think I would know how to stop it, especially the fly trap part.”

“Yeah, that part is scary.”

 

The vines continued to retreat, returning through the window and letting the light filter back through the windows, some might call it beautiful, such as myself.

 

“Maybe I’m nervous?” Brendon asked, blushing in a rather sweet shade of green.

 

“What would you be nervous about?”

 

“I didn’t tell you?” Brendon scratched behind his ears, awkward and quiet, “I have a date.”

 

Pete smiled, a rather lovely smile I might add, it’s a very motherly smile, “With who? Is it Ashley?”

 

“No, she sets things on fire, it scares me,” Brendon shook his head. “She’s an Equal.”

 

Pete frowned, “How’d you meet an Equal?”

 

“I know a lot of Equals!” Brendon scoffed, pulling a face that would make many people apologize, Pete Wentz didn’t notice. “And I met her at my job!” Brendon had a not particularly lucrative job at a Jamba Juice.

 

“Well when’s the date?” Pete turned to the fridge to search for an unhealthy snack.

 

“In a few days… I still don’t know what I’m gonna wear.” He looked slightly ashamed at this, you should know that Brendon _always_ knows what he wants to wear.

 

Pete turned again to put a hand on his shoulder, “I’m sure it’ll turn out fine.”

 

Brendon Urie shrugged again and I’m rather disappointed to tell you, that part two is much less light and friendly.

 

Think of that series, you know the one by Lemony Snicket?

 

The next part is wonderfully bleak.

  
Part two of _Botany_ will be quite bleak.


	2. Botany, part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A dead man lives upstairs, isn't that exciting?  
> Not when a Venus Fly-Trap ruins your fun.

 

I’m afraid I over-exaggerated this part with the use of the word: _bleak._

 

It’s completely wrong on all accounts.

 

I suppose a better word to use would be… _distressing_.

 

Of course, this is a matter of opinion, you could think the fact that this story is somewhat hard to swallow is completely enjoyable!

 

But I digress.

 

This part begins exactly two days after the first part, which means that if you skipped the part before this one, it might cause trouble for you and the part of your beautiful brain that puts things in order.

 

Unless you’re one of those people up in Belgium that reads everything backward, then by all means, start at the ending.

 

I am _honored_ to have you here!

 

To continue, Brendon Urie, the boy from earlier that grows flowers in his sleep, you remember, don’t you?

 

Well, he still has a date.

 

With a rather captivating (a word that here means: enchanting, beautiful, and worthy of attention) woman. She really is all of those things, and you must believe they are true since they came straight from the mouth of a first-hand witness.

 

The same witness who has a date with her.

 

And thus, we find ourselves within the apartment of Brendon Urie.

 

Which I must describe as quite nice.

 

Two bedrooms, a kitchen, a living room, bathrooms of course, just imagine a standard apartment and we’ll be on our way.

 

He’s nervous, which can be apparent if one only looks to the left, at the small fern on the kitchen counter that seems to be growing at an alarming rate, twisting its leafy tentacles around his legs and tickling his toes.

 

He ignores it, to its annoyance.

 

Brendon continues to watch the television, at the news reporting the latest terrible thing, at cartoons which are also terrible, but really, that depends on which cartoon you are watching.

 

His eyelids feel like drooping, and roots began to hold him to the divan, which is another name for a couch.

 

Upstairs, we join another character, Pete Wentz.

 

Who is meeting with another Blue.

 

I’ll describe him.

 

This Blue is slender, of average height, and, ugh, I hate to say it, but one of the _worst_ haircuts you will have ever seen.

 

His name is Mikey Way, and, by all legal documents that he has ever had anything to do with, he’s dead.

 

Dead as that fly you smacked out of the air two days ago, or like that poor skunk on the highway you drove past and turned your nose to.

 

His heart does not technically beat, his lungs have never actually functioned, and he has no need to cut his fingernails.

 

Isn’t that grand?

 

He does have something else up his sleeve of course.

 

Mikey Way can bring anything back to a half state of living.

 

Not humans of course, that might breach a few ethics somewhere.

 

To demonstrate, he has a pot of lovely red posies balanced precariously on the radiator.

 

The radiator is just for show, he bought it at a garage sale, but these posies are grayish, dead looking, and just plain unalive.

 

Yet they are still growing.

 

Mikey, who I have forgotten to mention has glassy looking eyes, greets Pete at the door to his apartment.

 

“What are you doing in my house?”

 

Oh, I see.

 

The roles are reversed, Pete is opening the door to Mikey’s apartment from the inside, thus greeting Mikey at his own house.

 

“I’m inviting you in,” Pete smiles, quite cheekily I might add, what a flirt.

 

“No,” Mikey breezes past him, “This is my apartment, so I’m going to invite you out.”

 

“I hope you’ll pay for dinner then,” Pete twists his words.

 

“I don’t eat.”

 

“Oh, wow,” Pete is impressed, “You must save a lot of money.”

 

“I don’t because I was lying to you.” Mikey drops his messenger bag to the floor and indicates to the fridge, “Why would I have that if I didn’t eat?”

 

“But… But you don’t even _breathe_.”

 

This was enunciated by the fact that Pete was the only one breathing.

 

“Why are you here?” Mikey made his way to the fridge and took out a chocolatey drink.

 

“Because we’re friends and I thought I would say hi,” Pete wanted to ask for his own chocolatey beverage but felt awkward doing so. “Or to be completely honest-”

 

“I was waiting for you to be.”

 

“Brendon is so nervous about his date, the fern in my apartment spilled my coffee.”

 

Mikey sipped his drink, his dead, clouded eyes were blank (a word that in this context would mean to show no emotion.)

 

“My roommate is annoying too.”

 

“It’s not the same thing.” Pete shook his head.

 

“Yeah.”  

 

It is at this exact moment we should join Brendon downstairs.

 

We will find him in a strange state.

 

He’s asleep, but not exactly.

 

His nerves have completely taken over I’m sorry to say.

 

The fern, which is a very nice plant I should say, they are quite motherly, and this particular fern has been trying to comfort Brendon in his nearly- and forgive my joke- _vegetative_ state.

 

Oh, ha ha!

 

Yes, I thought of that one last night.

 

See, it’s because vegetables are plants and-

 

Well, anyway.

 

The roots that had begun to grow from Brendon had buried deep inside the couch, and real plants had begun to grow from Brendon’s skin. Unfortunately not Hibiscus, but different.

 

These vines are an ugly shade of pea green and at the same a lovely shade of purple.

 

The fern welcomed these vines, imagining this was Brendon decompressing, which means to rid yourself of stress, the fern was wrong, unfortunately, and soon found itself crushed under some rather mean-spirited vines that I can only describe with two words: Rude and NERVOUS.

 

I meant to write NERVOUS normally, but it came out in capitals, which is much more descriptive than I had originally planned.

 

Perhaps these plants think they are defending Brendon? Protecting him by burying him in a cocoon of leafs?

 

I am not sure if they knew was making Brendon so nervous.

 

Perhaps they thought it was some horrible monster, with four eyes and seven creepy crawly legs. As well as three arms and fourteen noses.

 

In their continuing ignorance, the vines soon occupied the entire apartment, growing up the walls and straining against the support beams, covering the windows and blocking out the light, soon releasing glowing blue spores that don’t technically exist according to modern science.

 

The fern hid deep inside her pot.

 

The posies upstairs tried another method of hiding: death.

 

A full one, one that Mikey noticed with a shiver up his dead spine.

 

He looked back at the wilted posies, perfectly dead and gray.

 

Pete watched him investigate the plant, “Maybe Brendon can look at it? It would be a nice distraction.”

 

“Maybe Brendon is the problem?”

 

We return to Brendon to watch a Venus Fly-Trap grow in the center of the room.

 

Oh dear.

 

I wasn’t thinking of you.

 

This could get dangerous.

 

[ Sign this waiver for me? ](https://thenarrator.typeform.com/to/FpXV08)

 

Now that that’s all finished, I will continue.

 

This Venus Fly-Trap is very mean spirited, we will nickname it Twoey, after the villain in that musical.

 

It is my favorite musical.

 

Humor me.

 

This Twoey is not a villain.

 

It cannot sing either, unfortunately.

 

And as Brendon was swallowed in his nervous little cocoon, Twoey brushed the hair from his face using one of its vines. How sweet.

 

A knock at the door made it hiss, _HOW DARE-_

 

“I have my keys, why would you knock?”

 

Twoey paused, perhaps thinking, but plants don’t really think, do they?

 

Unbeknownst to anyone important, the vines that had covered the window had begun to grow up the side of the building.

 

“Here, something’s blocking the door-” Pete pushed with all his might and broke the vines, crashing through the door and planting his face onto one of Twoey’s rather large leaves.

 

Mikey stood back, unbothered, “Feed me, Seymour,” He recited dully.

 

“Holy shit.” Pete Wentz breathed, staring up into Twoey’s eyeless face, “Brendon?”

 

Brendon’s eyes snapped open, glowing a shade of green that hasn’t been discovered quite yet, and he spoke, _“Yes?”_

 

“This is actually way more exciting than anything else I was going to do today.” Mikey stared at one of the blue spores that floated past his sharp nose.

 

“So… Brendon,” Pete rubbed the back of his head, “This is, uh… new? Right? I mean, not Twoey, that’s happened before, but not like this right?”

 

Brendon thought through a haze of chlorophyll and other planty thoughts, _“Perhaps not.”_

 

“Maybe you could… uh…” Pete looked back up at Twoey, who was looking at him, whipping its vines lazily, “Maybe you could… stop?”

 

Brendon nodded, vines growing from his jawline, I’m not sure he’s blinked yet.

 

Something made him stop nodding.

 

_“I can’t.”_

 

“What?” Mikey frowned, “Why not? I mean this is all really cool and I think my roommate would really like learning about it, but I think your floor will cave in if you keep going like this.”

 

 _“I can’t…”_ Brendon struggled to organize through the chlorophyll, and Twoey’s own feelings.

 

It was nervous, scared, protecting him from something. _“What if it’s not safe?”_

 

Pete stared at Twoey’s green face, which had begun to twitch, Mikey stood next to him.

 

“What if I did my thing?” Mikey showed Pete his hand, which had begun to show its gray veins.

 

Twoey twisted to look at him, then shoved him out the door at such a breakneck speed that it did exactly that!

 

I would like to remind you that technically, Mikey Way is already dead.

 

 _“See?”_ Brendon’s voice has become omnipresent in the apartment room, coming from every vine, and even Twoey itself.

 

And to be quite clear, part three will be quite thrilling.

 

A word that means in this context: not thrilling at all and actually quite scary.

  



	3. Botany, FIN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patience must truly be a virtue  
> Twoey gets its due

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you!

 

We find ourselves in the same apartment.

 

A standard living space, I’m sure you remember it.

 

So standard, in fact, that the presence of a large Venus Fly-Trap in the living room would be quite surprising!

 

The downstairs neighbors are more than surprised however, they’re understandably frightened by the creaking ceiling that, with every groan, released dust that floated to the floor, making the polished wood quite ashy looking.

 

But our quarrel is not with these people, who I have to say are not interesting at all, but rather in the obvious place: The Venus Fly-Trap.

 

And Pete Wentz

 

“So, this is because you’re nervous right?”

 

I believe you know the answer to this question.

 

Brendon Urie, a lovely boy on all accounts (except for his snore), is nervous.

 

Nervous about his date with a lovely girl, whom he had just met.

 

Brendon did not answer.

 

“Does… Does this guy-” Pete pointed at the Fly-Trap, whose name, if you remember, is Twoey, with his index finger, basically _ shoving _ it in it’s direction. It was a somewhat violent action, one that sent Twoey almost into hysterics, curling it’s vines wildly in every direction. 

 

It could be likened to an octopus… but I wouldn’t do that, my fourth aunt Darla was an octopus and she was perfectly friendly, unlike Twoey here…

 

Pete continued, “ _ Know _ … What you’re actually nervous  _ about?! _ ”

 

Twoey does _ not _ .

 

Which is just bad preparation on it’s part.

 

Brendon appeared unbothered, he still hadn’t blinked, which tends to get quite painful after awhile,  _ “Something bad.” _

 

Pete Wentz clutched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, perhaps reacting to the ever fickle mind of semi-sentient plants and their creators, “No!” He looked up, past Twoey, at his friend with the daisies growing from his hair. “It’s not, you’re nervous about a date!”

 

Brendon, and I mean the Brendon on the inside, if you look past the chlorophyll, remembered. He suddenly felt incredibly guilty, he had hurt the fern on the kitchen counter!

 

Twoey only heard lies!

 

Everything was a threat, from it’s point of view! These thoughts were poison! It could feel Brendon falling for it! NO NO NO-

 

With a twist of its vines, Twoey pushed for control, the blue spores buzzed frantically in the air around Pete’s head and making him sneeze.

 

Brendon, the poor dear, became confused again! He really is trying his best, it’s just the chemicals in his head were all mixed up, and plant biology is so strange when mixed with the human stuff.

 

Twoey grew heavier, shifting to grow in front of Brendon so Pete could no longer see him.

 

“This is getting out of hand,” Pete could feel the floor beneath him groan with effort.

 

Outside in the hall, Mikey grabs at his aching neck.

 

I will resign myself to not describing the rather ugly sound it made when he reset it.

 

“Ow,” He says, tilting his head from side to side,  _ “Ow.” _

 

The ugly vines were growing over the door, blocking his triumphant return to the apartment to save the day. He wondered if he could grab these vines and-

 

One vine whipped out and stuck thorns in his arm,  _ “OW!” _

 

He would have no choice but to report this to the landlord.

 

Mikey Way took the stairs to the ground floor, ignoring the twisting feeling at the base of his neck, healing itself. I should mention that Mikey’s _ deplorable _ haircut, has simply gotten worse in all this scuffling.

 

Every once in awhile, in his trip down the stairs, Mikey would look back up and wonder if he was missing something. Not in the way you’re probably thinking of, whenever you leave a school assignment at home on the day that it's due and not realize until you enter the class, but rather in the way you just know you’re missing something exciting, like your friend from high school was about to use his abilities and you were just missing it.

 

Don’t worry, we won’t.

 

If that’s what you were asking.

 

Now, the lobby of the aptly named Vined Apartments is a very simple area. It has a front desk, a small seating area where no one really sat, I personally would describe it as  _ mingling _ , two large front doors, and another much small door labeled  _ Landlord _ .

 

Mikey hurried to this door, expecting to see what he expected, the landlord, Mike Dirnt.

 

Instead, he saw someone unexpected! A short man, just a little taller than Pete Wentz, sat with his feet up on the desk, eating a slightly soggy sandwich.

 

He’s a Blue as well, which is probably what you were thinking in the first place. Consider your thought proven correct.

 

This Blue is made of water.

 

Well, only once in awhile.

 

In these moments of… I would say: at full power, this man’s body turns into a translucent form completely constructed of water, including his hair, and thankfully, his clothes. Right now, however, he appeared almost completely like an Equal.

 

Aside from his eyes, which had no irises or pupils, and he was dripping wet, thankfully not all over the place, the water never landed anywhere else but his own body.

 

His name is- and you’ll love this- is…

 

…

 

Just a moment, the files are organized alphabetically according to childhood pet names.

 

His name- and I’m telling you to just imagine it- is Joseph Trohman.

 

Can’t you just see it?

 

I think I could die happy if the only thing I ever saw was Joe Trohman.

 

“Where’s Dirnt?” Mikey Way asks our perpetually soaking wet friend.

 

Mikey Way was hoping he was just around the corner, fixing a leaky pipe or something. Mike’s abilities could most likely help the most in this type of situation of Brendon Urie size troubles.

 

Mike was made of marble through and through and could freeze any of his chosen surroundings to figurative stone.

 

Joe set his sandwich down on the desk and put on an overly-serious face, “He quit.”

 

Upstairs we see Pete, battling, or really just defending himself from Twoey's swinging and heavy vines.

 

Badly, I should add.

 

“Brendon!” He yelled across the room, “Listen! Seriously!”

 

He toppled to the floor in a pile of vines and leaves that began to slowly wrap his limbs, attempting to stop him from getting to Brendon, or any other malicious attempts of unspeakable evil.

 

Pete looked up at the moss-covered ceiling and listened to the creaking and groaning of the support beams, and he breathed a sigh of resignation.

 

“Last chance?” He asked the vines, they ignored him, “All right… guess I gotta do the thing now.” This last sentence was spoken with much hesitation.

 

Pete Wentz took in a deep breath, sat up, and grabbed the vines. For a moment, nothing happened except for Twoey looking over the cocooned Brendon with something close to love. I would say it’s something close to  _ plant _ , since Twoey doesn’t technically have eyes.  

 

Then, a thin cloud of black smoke wisped out of Pete and into the air, his hair began to stand on it’s end in places, giving him a certifiably roguish look. He squeezed his eyes shut, and when he opens them, his irises have turned a lovely shade of black. “Sorry B.” He says, and his voice is coming from far away.

 

Downstairs!

 

I hope you’re not getting dizzy.

 

But Joe is currently laughing his proverbial ass off at Mikey’s expense.

 

“You should have seen your face!” he snorts, “It looked like your heart started beating or something!” Joe calms down quickly, and sighs, sitting back down in the comfortable office chair, “But I’m totally kidding, he’s taking a sick day and asked me to fill his spot.”

 

“You are such-” Mikey spluttered, “I- Fuck you, Brendon Urie is upstairs- gonna collapse the building you idiot-”

 

“Woah, woah, how was I supposed to know this shit?” Joe stood, momentarily dripping water on the floor, it was instantly called back from where it had come, “I don’t see any hibiscus, daisies aren’t growing from weird places, what the hell is he doing?”

 

“Big ass, flytrap.” Was Mikey’s answer.

 

They rushed up the stairs together, avoiding the complainers who were complaining about things like: “Dust in my macaroni!” and “My ceiling is cracking!” and “I’m still hearing moaning coming from my pipes!”

 

That last one seems unrelated, or perhaps their next door neighbors just really don’t like plants and have chosen to express distaste in the form of moaning through the kitchen sink.

 

Joe and Mikey stumble onto Brendon’s floor, both breathing heavily and excitedly. “I don’t know how I’m gonna help,” Joe gasped, “Did you want me to drown the Trap? Or-”

 

The door was open.

 

Pete Wentz is standing.

 

Mikey Way gives himself a high five, he didn’t miss it!

 

Pete faces Twoey with an ugly thin smile placed on his lips, not of his own choice, it just happens whenever his abilities show themselves.

 

The shadows under his eyes have stretched and darkened, and his hair has abandoned all common sense in the way of style, or form, jutting out in random directions and wisping the black smoke from earlier.

 

“Sick,” Joe says under his breath, “I’ve only seen this in videos.”

 

From where Pete held the vines, a black ink-like color had begun to flow, turning the flowers in it’s path a ghostly white or gold, it almost seemed Pete had acquired Brendon;s abilities and taking them for his own, black vines grew from his own arms and white roots held him to the ground.

 

“Brendon,” Pete spoke and a high pitched ringing filled Mikey and Joe’s ears, “Please, you gotta listen.” Twoey turned back to snarl but seemed to scream when it saw what Pete was doing.

 

Brendon’s vines were beginning to be owned by Pete, losing their connection to Twoey and making it spit and whine.

 

“Is it getting smaller?” Joe asked.

 

“Mikey!” Pete yelled, “Get to it! I won’t be able to-”

 

His focus was back on the vines before he could finish, his head filling with chlorophyll and thoughts from Twoey to:  _ lie down, have a snack, maybe die along the way _ .

 

Pete made the chlorophyll belong to him.

 

The spores disappeared and the vines turned black and gray and Mikey ran into the room as Twoey finally let loose an almost deafening scream.

 

Brendon had begun to blink, the green glow fading from his eyes as Hibiscus flowers grew around his face to comfort him.

 

Joe, back in the hallway had turned to water and shifted to a nonhuman form to slip around the vines with ease. Mikey wondered how he could see.

 

He was helping to protect Pete, slapping away still green vines and enemy thorns with his watery form.

 

Twoey grew and shrunk fast, clapping it’s jaw and screaming into the air, Mikey’s dead eyes rattled in his skull.

 

The black and white reached Twoey’s base and the plant gurgled, in pain or defeat, or something else? I personally do not know, but Mikey grabbed the Flytrap the instant it happened.

 

From his hands the plant withered and paled, whimpering at his touch.

 

Pete’s own abilities traveled onward to Brendon, unraveling vines and turning flowers white.

 

Twoey screamed his last when Brendon gasped awake yelling, “Shit!”

 

Mikey stood back and let his abilities do their work on the plant as it shrunk, whimpering and gurgling in Brendon’s direction. He uprooted himself from the couch and kept a hibiscus behind his ear.

 

Joe returned to his human form, and Pete fell to his knees, the smile gone and his eyes back to color. With difficulty, he called the black vines back into his skin, when they disappeared, he would no longer own them.

 

His abilities were like that. He could take and control, but not keep.

 

“You-” Brendon wiped his face of tears, his eyes are green from tears, it almost makes you want to cry with him! Mikey looked away, feeling guilty all of a sudden, “You hacked me?” He wants to be mad, but really it just doesn’t work.

  
  


“I’m really sorry,” Pete is fighting back drowsiness, “That thing took over, I didn’t know-”

 

The fern on the counter slapped the back of his head and Brendon crossed his arms, “I’m sorry.” He said it so quietly that even I’m still not sure if it happened, and I see everything!

 

“You know Mike’s gonna want you to pay for the damages-” Joe was interrupted by Pete.

 

“I’ll take care of it,” He struggled to stand, his hair still in disarray, “Don’t bother.”

 

“It won’t happen again,” Brendon clenched his jaw, “I swear I’m gonna get better at this-”

 

“You have a date to get ready for,” Mikey stopped his speech before it could begin.

 

Brendon took a deep breath, “Don’t even get me started on you, jerk! You were gonna zombify me!”

 

“I was not!” Mikey put a hand over his heart, offended, perhaps more so than necessary, “That’s not how it works!”

 

Four things preceded to happen at once.

 

One: An extremely cold wind blew through the entire building, chilling Mikey to the bone in particular.

 

Brendon’s cell phone went off, signaling he had received a text message.

 

Three: Brendon seemed to squeak: “She’s here for our lunch!”

 

And four: Sullenly, Mikey responded, “My roommates home.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to take this time to plug my other fics! (And don't worry about this one, it is a collection of short stories after all, and there wouldn't be a connection with only one story)
> 
> if you like this one, you might also like my Le Velo Pour Deux series, which you can find on my page. It's urban fantasy and written in a long one-shot form. The first book features Pete Wentz and Patrick Stump, and vampires and warlocks and adult responsibilities! I have only one part out right now, but I am currently writing the second part which features (and this is exclusive info you won't find anywhere else) Dallon Weekes and Ryan Ross!


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